


Fic! Five Times Spencer Marked Brendon (and one time he returned the favour)

by Pennyplainknits



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M, Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:58:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennyplainknits/pseuds/Pennyplainknits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all</p><p>Disclaimer: Fake as a wooden nickel</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic! Five Times Spencer Marked Brendon (and one time he returned the favour)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came from an email from [](http://hermette.livejournal.com/profile)[**hermette**](http://hermette.livejournal.com/) that asked for teen Brendon giving Spencer a hickey. There’s also skin writing, because I love it, and no one ever writes it.
> 
> Thanks to [](http://hermette.livejournal.com/profile)[**hermette**](http://hermette.livejournal.com/) and [](http://sunsetmog.livejournal.com/profile)[**sunsetmog**](http://sunsetmog.livejournal.com/) for initial brainstorming (one day I will be able to write without emailing [](http://hermette.livejournal.com/profile)[**hermette**](http://hermette.livejournal.com/) bits as I go) and [](http://were-duck.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**were_duck**](http://were-duck.dreamwidth.org/) for the awesome beta!

  
**Five**

“Jesus _Christ_ Spence, just,” Brendon pants, head thrown back, as Spencer mouths at his collarbone, tasting salt. Brendon pushes up against him, already hard, writhing, and Spencer knows what he wants, but...

“See,” Spencer says, schooling his voice to be calm, ignoring the way Brendon’s hitching his hips up in little abortive thrusts. “I could mark you here,” and he kisses Brendon’s collarbone, as perfectly defined as the rest of him “but your striptease habit means that everyone will see it.”

“Can’t disappoint the fans,” Brendon manages to gasp out as Spencer slides his hands into his opened pants. “Its not like you don’t like it.”

Spencer does like it. He likes it a lot.

“True,” Spencer says, moving lower, taking one of Brendon’s nipples into his mouth and sucking, to mark his place, even though it doesn’t do much for Brendon. Not like the inside of his arm, which sets him of like a rocket if you scratch just right. “But you see, every time you do that, I want to do this,” and he kisses across Brendon’s stomach, “but harder. Bruise you all up. All for everyone to see.”

He could make Brendon say yes to it with very little effort, but someone has to be sensible. This thing is theirs, not for public discussion. Not like that.

“So do it somewhere they won’t see,” Brendon says, shifting his hips, pushing his cock through the loose circle of Spencer’s fist.

“I could do that,” Spencer says, though he loves the thought too, imagines scoring his nails across Brendon’s inner thighs again, red lines saying _I was here and we did this_ , a secret confirmation. But instead he jacks Brendon just this side of too slow, drawing it out, and latches onto one hipbone, where it will be covered by Brendon’s pants, and sucks and sucks, setting his teeth into the skin, deliberate presses, moving his mouth gently until Brendon is thrashing around under him, leaking all over his hand and panting “Fuck me, fuck me” over and over.

“Since you asked,” Spencer pulls off, and swats at Brendon’s hip. “Pants off.”

Brendon wriggles out of his pants and onto his stomach, as Spencer kicks his own pants off. He pops the cap on the lube and squeezes some out, fumbles a little with the condom.

“Come on come on,” Brendon says, and Spencer blankets him, noses at his sweaty nape and kisses there, right where it makes Brendon melt.

“Mmmmm,” Brendon purrs, then, “Come on Spence, fuck me. Please.”

“So polite,” Spencer smiles, and mouths down Brendon’s back, the muscles taut with tension and anticipation, as he slides two fingers at once into Brendon and Brendon bucks up against him like always. He’s pushing his hips down against the bed now, and Spencer draws it out, fingering him slowly, slowly until Brendon bursts out:

“Come the fuck _ON_ Spencer,”

“Patience,” Spencer says, and leans down sink his teeth into the curve of Brendon’s ass, right where it meets his thigh. He means it as a playful warning, but Brendon goes rigid under him and cries out and comes, just like that.

Brendon’s breath is coming in short bursts and he half turns over, drags Spencer down and kisses him rough and hurried and sloppy and Spencer’s barely inside him before he’s coming too, gripping Brendon’s thighs, nails leaving half-moon indentations.

“Well,” Brendon says after a few minutes, curling his arm round Spencer and pulling him close. “That was a success.”

Spencer muffles his laugh against his shoulder and says “Yes.”

They have a show the next night, and it’s the same as ever, Ian slumped against Brendon in _Nearly Witches_ , shirts open, the screams as Brendon shrugs his all the way off with an elegant roll of his shoulders, and Spencer would be lying if he said he didn’t get a thrill out of the way he knows that _he’s_ the one who gets to see that every day.

Brendon turns to face him, tugs down the waistband of his pants, just a little. The bruise pokes out, purple and red on the cut of his hip.

Brendon catches his eye, and _winks_.

 **Four**

Spencer is wearing eyeliner. _Eyeliner_ and a grey tweed suit, new, and Brendon kind of can’t stop looking at him. He’s forgotten, somehow, how it looks on Spencer, how the smudgy lines made his eyes bright bright blue and how much he likes it.

“Looking good, Spence,” is all he says before they head out, and Spencer just smiles a half smile and puts the pencil down, and knocks his shoulder against Brendon’s as they go through the door.

He can’t stop _looking_ , though. All through the interviews and the shoot and all the way back home. Trying to overlay the image of the last time he’d seen Spencer in eyeliner with this Spencer, the one that is tall and broad and pretty much the most important thing in his life, with tiny, baby-faced Spencer who-- was pretty much the most important thing his life then, too.

Not much has changed, really.

“You really like it, huh?” Spencer asks, back at home. He folds his suit jacket over the back of a chair and loosens his tie.

“Never said I didn’t,” Brendon says. “I, I don’t know, it’s like a reminder. I liked it then too.”

“Come here,” Spencer says, quietly, playfully. “I’ll put some on you, seeing as you like it so much.”

Brendon closes his eyes and tilts his head up, expecting to feel the gentle drag of the pencil along his lashes. 19 again and wearing it like a mask. Remembering that even then he knew what Spencer’s skin tasted like under the makeup, even if they didn’t talk about it.

“No,” Spencer says. “Take off your shirt.”

Brendon hesitates, but it’s not like he’s ever objected to getting naked. Especially since recently, getting naked with Spencer has had such enjoyable results again.

“I’m easy to get naked Spence,” he says, unbuttoning the shirt and shrugging it off. “No tricks necessary.” He grins. He’s not sure where this is going, but Spencer and naked is a good combination.

“Don’t I know it,” Spencer says, and hip checks him so he bounces onto the bed. Brendon props himself up, leaning back on his elbows to watch Spencer pick up two pencils and then settle on the bed, studying him. Brendon stretches lazily, prodding Spencer’s thigh with his toes.

“See something you like?” he asks. Keeps it light because he’s not really sure where this is going.

“Like you don’t know,” Spencer says. He twirls the pencil through his fingers and then frowns down at Brendon, draws a spiral right on the bump of his hip. Brendon jerks away on reflex.

“Stay still,” Spencer says, biting his lip a little. Brendon wants to bite it for him, but this isn’t post-show, they aren’t high or drunk or sad or lonely or bored and he’s not sure if he’s allowed. There’s so much more at stake now.

“It tickles,” he says, “What are you doing?”

“Putting eyeliner on you,” Spencer says, like it’s perfectly normal. “Seriously if you move you’ll screw it up.” He touches the pencil to the skin just under Brendon’s belly button and Brendon twitches again.

Spencer huffs, and swings his legs over Brendon’s lap, sitting back on his heels. He pins Brendon’s hip with one hand and oh, Brendon likes that, the weight of Spencer on him holding him down. It’s not something he’s asked for, because, well, he doesn’t know why. Doesn’t seem the kind of thing you can ask, when you’re not even sure if you’re in a relationship.

“Stay. Still,” Spencer says, slowly.

Brendon stays. He’s not sure what to say, so he just watches, half mesmerized, as Spencer draws, random patterns at first, swirls and curved lines along his hipbone. The touch of the pencil is the lightest tease, the slight drag on his skin like the barest brush of fingers, or the tickle of Spencer’s hair. He can’t see too well when Spencer moves to trace across his stomach, the glide of the eyeliner making his abs contract, but he thinks Spencer is writing something.

“Seriously Spence,” Brendon’s surprised at how breathless he sounds, “what are you doing?”

“Writing,” Spencer says, “Every time I look at you, I want to put my name on you.”

Brendon sucks in a breath at the easy possessiveness of it. “You do?” he says.

“Uh huh,” Spencer sounds far away, dreamy, and carries on, the pencil making soft black marks across his stomach. Brendon’s getting hard now, Spencer’s proximity, his heat, the way he’s looking at him, intent, proprietary, marking him as his, even if only for as long as the makeup lasts.

It’s long enough for Brendon, even if he’ll never stop wanting longer.

Spencer’s written all the way across his stomach, to his other hip, and he shifts closer, further up Brendon’s legs. Spencer’s still fully dressed, but now he’s close enough, Brendon can feel he’s hard too, crouching over Brendon as he traces another shape on the skin of his side. It’s the slowest, lightest tease in the world and Brendon flops his head back and closes his eyes, gives himself over to it.

“You don’t have to,” Brendon says. It’s easier, with his eyes closed, with Spencer’s hands strong and cherishing on him. “I’m only yours, anyway. If you want.” He leaves it out there, floating, hanging, all the reasons why they shouldn’t, all the reasons they want to, echoing in the sudden silence.

The pencil stops moving. Brendon can feel the point of it, pressing into the skin over his ribs like a period, the dot at the end of a question mark.

“Brendon,” Spencer’s not playful now, his voice is thick, like the words are an effort. “Brendon.”

And then Spencer is fully on top of him and kissing him, the eyeliner forgotten. Brendon clings on, running his hands over Spencer’s shirt, his pants, up into his hair and messing it up, rocking up into him. Spencer’s too frantic to even stop so they can get their pants open.

“You think I wouldn’t want that?” Spencer asks, kissing Brendon’s eyebrows, his cheekbones, the tip of his nose. It’s ridiculous and romantic and Brendon can barely think straight, too sensitised to be sensible. “Always, Brendon. I know its a bad idea--”

Brendon kisses him before he can finish the sentence.

“No.Best idea,” he says, kissing up Spencer’s throat to his ear; Spencer shudders against him like always. “God, after everything, you think I wouldn’t want that?”

“It’s scary,” Spencer says, and that’s enough to make Brendon raise his head so he can look Spencer in the eye.

“The best things are,” he says.

Spencer’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and he bends back down, sliding a hand between them to unbutton and unzip.

“When did you get so wise?” he asks, and kisses him again before Brendon can answer.

After, Spencer’s crisp, white, shirt is covered with smudges of black and purple, and whatever he’d drawn on Brendon’s skin has mostly rubbed off. Still, Brendon squints into the bathroom mirror and makes out a few smudged words on his side, the handwriting as familiar as his own.

 _Take....me........always......you_.

 **Three**

He finds Brendon tucked away in the corner of the backstage, one of those forgotten areas littered with cable ties and half-used rolls of duct tape that all venues everywhere seem to have. He’s resting his forehead against the wall and muttering under his breath, too quiet for Spencer to hear.

“Brendon?” Spencer asks quietly, putting a hand on Brendon’s shoulder. Brendon is _shaking_ , and when he finally turns round he’s pale and _terrified_ , sickly pale and drawn. Spencer’s only seen him look like this once before, and that was the first show they played in front of Brendon’s parents.

“B?” he asks again, curling his hand round Brendon’s shoulder “You ok?”

“No,” Brendon says, and his voice is hoarse, like he’s been shouting, or crying. “I-I _can’t_ go out there, I can’t, they’ll hate us.”

“You never get stage fright,” Spencer says

“That was back when I still had a _band_ ,” Brendon mutters.

Spencer swats him on the arm with his free hand, not too gently.

“You still do.” he says “Come on Brendon, don’t leave me out on my own here.”

“What if they’re right though?” Brendon says. Spencer doesn’t ask who ‘they’ are-- Ryan, Jon, music journalists, ex-fans, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that they have an album of new material, two touring members ready to go, and Brendon looks like he might throw up at any minute.

“They’re NOT,” he says, and hugs Brendon tightly to him. Brendon’s already sweating through his stage shirt, it’s damp as Spencer flattens his palms on Brendon’s back, rubbing soothingly.

“They could be,” Brendon says, almost too quiet to hear, into Spencer’s ear. “I don’t think I can do it, I can’t go out there.”

“Brendon,” Spencer says, pulling back to look him in the eye “You know how good you are. Our songs are GOOD SONGS. This is what makes all the rest of the shit worth it, you know? It’s why we do all the rest, to go out there, and see the crowd, and hear them singing along.”

“I know,” Brendon says, miserably. “I just...forget. Without you to remind me. You’re all the way at the back of the stage, dude. I don’t think Dallon’s going to be able to snap me out of it.”

Spencer kisses his cheek. He kind of wishes they were fooling around still, as a quick blow job would perk Brendon right up. Instead, he pulls a Sharpie out of his pocket.

“Give me your hand.” he says instead.

Brendon, trusting as ever, holds his hand out. Spencer uncaps the pen with his teeth and turns Brendon’s hand so it’s palm up. He wonders what to write. “I am awesome” would look bad if someone caught it in photographs, and any words he can think of just sound trite or pretentious. Instead he draws one thick, vertical line down Brendon’s palm, starting at the base of his middle finger. The ink is dark on Brendon’s skin and Spencer’s careful not to smudge it as he makes the line thicker and wider. Then he draws a circle at the end of the line, colours it in, and releases Brendon’s hand. Before he can think better of it (and it’s not like anyone will see it on him, anyway, he draws the exclamation point on his left palm too, quick and a bit scribbly, but there.

“Really?” Brendon asks, holding his palm up to study it. “Our exclamation point?”

“Exactly,” Spencer says “Ours. You’re not alone. I’m in this too. I’m right where I want to be, and we are going to rock to fuck out of this show.”

“If you say so,” Brendon says, but he’s smiling now, doesn’t look so green.

“I do,” Spencer says, “now come on.”

Brendon catches his hand as they walk to the dressing room, laces their fingers together and squeezes, palm to palm, mark to mark.

The show, of course, fucking rocks.

  
 **Two**

Spencer’ hair is _shiny_. This seems to be the sort of thing that it’s important to say, so Brendon raises the hand that isn’t holding the joint and runs his hand through Spencer’s hair and says, “Shiny shiny shiny”. Spencer’s hair is really soft too, slipping through his fingers like water.

Far, far away, Spencer laughs.

“How high are you?”

“As high as you are,” Brendon tries to wave, but he still has his hand in Spencer’s hair, and so he just ends up pulling it.

“Hey,” Spencer protests, but slow, half-indulgent.

“Sorry,” Brendon says, and he kisses the top of Spencer’s head. There’s a clatter from the kitchen, followed by Ryan’s laughter and Jon’s “ooops,” and some giggles.

The joint is burning down, and Brendon takes a last drag, pulling the smoke in deep, then dropping the roach into his half drunk coke.

“Share,” Spencer says, tilting his head up, and it just seems to be the thing to do to lean down and seal his mouth over Spencer’s and breathe the smoke into him. Because Spencer is _shiny_ and friends share, right?

Spencer pulls back, his eyes _blue blue blue_ and exhales. Then leans back in, slowlyslowlyslowly and puts his mouth on Brendon’s and Brendon expects smoke but it’s just wet and tongue and slow and _good_ and Brendon’s sure there’s a reason they don’t do this, but he can’t quite remember why. Spencer leans forward, but overbalances, and they both tumble off of the couch. Brendon cracks his shin on the coffee table on the way down, and it’s suddenly the funniest thing that’s ever happened. Spencer breaks off the kiss to laugh, his full belly laugh that makes him shake, and then Brendon’s laughing too, stretched on his back and looking up at the dark ceiling, laughs and laughs until he feels his eyelids droop and the room floating away.

When Brendon wakes someone has put an unzipped hoodie over him and there’s sun streaming in over his face. There’s noises coming from the kitchen and Brendon gets up to investigate, and that’s when he realises his shin hurts like a motherfucker, and there’s a red-purple bruise across the width of it that he has no idea how he got.

Spencer and Jon are on their hands and knees picking up bits of broken china while Ryan leans against the counter in his ‘supervising’ pose.

“Seriously Ryan,” Spencer calls out, “I am buying you plastic cups.”

“Hey, Jon was there too,” Ryan protests, but slowly. He has dark glasses on which means he’s got a hangover and is trying not to show it. Brendon’s kind of glad someone else is in pain. His shin _really_ hurts.

“And Jon is _helping_ so he gets to keep his china privileges,” Spencer grouses.

“Hey Brendon,” Jon says, looking up. “We’re down to the gas station Pokemon mugs.”

“Don’t care as long as it has coffee in it,” Brendon says. He could really go for some waffles too.

“What did you do to your shin?” Ryan asks, looking over the top of his shades. He looks like a curious flamingo.

“I must have knocked it on something,” Brendon rubs it, and then Spencer looks up at him, eyes wide, and Brendon _remembers_ , the memory flooding back, and how could he have forgotten that?

“Knocked it, huh?” Spencer asks, straightening up. “I have some Bengay in my room. Might help the bruise?”

He cocks his head, and his hip, and walks out of the kitchen without waiting for Brendon to follow.

 _Oh._ Brendon thinks, _oh_ , and hurries after him.

  
 **One and One**  
Ryan got laid last night. It's pretty easy to tell, Spencer thinks. He's all loose-limbed and liquid, like someone warmed him up and made him pliable. He moves more slowly, deliberately, like there are still aches from some unknown activity.

The huge fucking hickey on his neck is also a big clue.

He doesn't try to hide it, never does, wearing it like a flag that says _I'm older, I know things and do things that you don't_ and it drives Spencer nuts.

It's not that he's jealous of whoever put that look on Ryan's face, that mark on Ryan's skin. Its that its living, breathing proof of the fact that people look at Ryan, not him. That Ryan's out there having tons and tons of sex while Spencer's stuck picking his sisters up from soccer practice. That despite all the promises they've made over the years, this might be the thing that changes them.

Also, Ryan's being kind of obnoxious about it, tilting his head that they can all see it at practice, staring off into the middle distance with a dreamy expression when they should be fixing the bridge to the stripper song, and fixing Brendon with look halfway between condescending and triumphant when he asks what Ryan got up to the night before that makes him such a flake at rehearsals.

Ryan gets as far as "Well, Brendon," in his most lecturing tone when Spence suddenly snaps.

"Spare us the details Ryan! Not everyone's as obsessed with it like you are. And if you could drag yourself away from whatever bloodsucker got her hands on you last night, maybe we could fix this fucking song!"

Brent and Brendon are looking at him like he just ritually murdered Bambi.

"His hands." Ryan corrects. "And we're done for tonight."

"Fine." Spencer says, and tucks his sticks into his back pocket and storms out.

It's only when he hears the smack of Converse on asphalt following him down the street to the bus stop that he remembers Brendon was supposed to be staying over. A carefully negotiated sleepover that Spencer had fought for because Brendon had been turning up looking pale and sad more often than not, and years of Ryan made him pretty good at spotting when someone needed to just not be at home.

"Hey," Brendon says, a little out of breath by the time he's caught up with Spencer. "I can go home, if you like. I don't have to come over."

Spencer debates saying yes, go home, but it's not Brendon's fault Ryan is an asshole sometimes. And his has that kicked kitten look, which was kind of the reason Spencer invited him over in the first place. He can't be the reason for making Brendon look like that.

"No, it's cool," he says, as the bus pulls up and the doors swoosh open. "Mom's expecting you. I cleaned my room and everything."

Brendon nods jerkily and they slide into seats opposite each other. He's quiet, which Spencer is grateful for as it doesn't interrupt his brooding. Spencer stares at the street as it rolls past and thinks that if he did the words thing like Ryan he'd make a metaphor about how it's like his best friend slipping away because he thinks he's so much more EXPERIENCED.

He's still in a mood all through dinner, happy to let Brendon take centre stage and tease his sisters, take his Mom's well-meaning enquiries, and eat more than his fair share of dessert. They go up to Spencer's room to play video games, but as soon as the door is closed Brendon pins him with as stern a look as he can manage and asks, "What gives with you and Ryan, Spence?"

Spencer sits down on the floor, back against his bed and says, "Nothing."

Brendon sits down and folds his legs up under him. He has this determined look on his face, like he's about to pull off a Bandaid, "Do, are you jealous? Of Ryan's...?" he waves his hand like he doesn't know how to finish the sentence.

"If you're asking, do I want to make out with Ryan, then no." Spencer says, huffing out a shaky laugh at the thought.

"Because you looked kind of jealous, dude," Brendon says, pushing on.

"It's nothing," Spencer forces a smile. Because, how pathetic does that sound? _I'm worried my best friend won't want be my best friend anymore because he's off getting hickies from people_. Better to just ignore it. "Come, on, want to play Grand Theft Auto?"

"Always," Brendon says, rooting around for the controller.

They play for a few minutes, until Spencer blurts out as much from frustration as anything else "It's just-- he has to go around _flaunting_ it."

"Did you just say _flaunting_?" Brendon asks, shifting toward him as he guides his car round a tight corner. He always played like he was actually driving the car "What are you, 80?"

"Shut up," Spencer says automatically, working up to a good rant. "I'm just sick of the way he's all, "Oh by the way Spence, I got laid again last night, like you and the WHOLE WORLD couldn't tell.” And the way he looks at everyone like he's so much COOLER."

"Cooler?" Brendon sounds like he's trying not to laugh. "This is Ryan we're talking about, right?"

Spencer steamrollers over him, focusing on his car as he says, "and it's not like I need a _reminder_ I'm not getting laid, you know? I know that just fine, and he does it to rub it in, I know he does, and what if--"

"SPENCE!" Brendon's hand is warm and a little sweaty on his bicep. "BREATHE."

Spencer takes a breath.

"If I give you a hickey, will you stop being such a bitch?" Brendon asks.

"It's not about the hickeys," Spencer says, to cover the totally unexpected flash of _something_ that ran through him at the thought of Brendon's mouth.

"But it'll confuse the hell out of him, right?" Brendon waggles his eyebrows like he does when he thinks he's being funny. "And it'll be good practice, right?"

 _practice for what?_ Spencer thinks. But instead he says,"Ok. Ok."

"Cool," Brendon says "Want to finish this game first?"

"Um, sure." Spencer says.

They play another couple games and Spencer fetches them cans of soda and some of the peanut butter cookies that they were supposed to be saving for the twins' soccer fundraiser, and then Brendon lets out a huge burp, grins, and says,"C'mere."

"Jesus Brendon." Spencer says, "that's gross."

"Do you want this damn hickey or not?" Brendon asks.

"Well, when you put it like that," Spencer says, and puts his can of coke down safely out of the way.

"Right," Brendon shakes out his arms and shoulders like he's about to run a race, and a flicker of nerves passes across his face.

Spencer wonders fleetingly just how much experience Brendon has. He thinks it can't be much more than his own two pathetic kisses. Possibly less. He can't see Brendon's parents letting him go to the kind of parties Spencer got his first kiss at.

"How do you want me?" he says, trying to make a joke of it. Suddenly it's kind of important Brendon doesn't back out of this and he's not sure why.

"Just," Brendon pushes at his shoulder until he leans back against the bed, and Spencer tilts his head back, feeling a little bit like the heroine in an old vampire movie. Brendon shuffles closer, puts one hand on his knee, and leans in, slowly, slowly. Spencer can hear his heart pounding in his ears.

Then Brendon lets out a sniffly breath, and sits back.

"What?" Spencer asks.

"Your hair got up my nose," Brendon rubs at his nose. "Can you, I don't know, hold it out of the way or something?"

"Smooth, Urie," Spencer says, but he takes the hair elastic from off his wrist and ties his hair back.

"Right," Brendon says, quietly "Ok." And he leans in again, and Spencer can feel Brendon's closed lips on his throat, sticky from the soda, and then Brendon opens his mouth and _bites_ down, hard.

"OW!" Spencer jumps back "Dude, you're not a fucking VAMPIRE don't bite me like that."

"But I thought you wanted me to--" Brendon looks honestly confused, and, like a bolt of lightning, it hits Spencer,really hits him, that _he's never done this before_.

"You have to, like, suck," Spencer says, and he shifts around a little because suddenly the thought of Brendon and suck in the same sentence is not funny so much as... something else.

Brendon frowns a little.

"Of for god’s sake, give me your arm," Spencer says, and tugs Brendon's arm toward him, and shoves up the sleeve of his shirt. "Like this, see?" And he seals his mouth against Brendon's skin right near the crook of his elbow, and sucks up a mark. Brendon's skin tastes a little salty, sweat from where he ran down the street after Spencer, and it's soft, so soft. He digs his teeth in, lightly, and Brendon lets out a little gasp.

"See?" Spencer asks again, lifting up his head and letting Brendon's arm drop.

"Right," Brendon nods jerkily, and tugs his sleeve back down over the mark. "I get it, less biting."  
he puts one hand on Spencer's knee, and Spencer could swear he's shaking a little. He's about to say forget it, when Brendon’s lips touch his neck again, warm, hesitant. He feels the tip of Brendon's tongue flick out to touch his skin, then suction, Brendon's lips moving slowly. Spencer bites his lip to stop the gasp, then Brendon pulls back and cocks his head as he examines the hickey.

"Hmmm," he says, "I think i can do better, tilt your head back." he doesn't wait for Spencer to say anything, just angles Spencer’s head back with his free hand on his jaw and goes back in, pressing his mouth to Spencer's neck more confidently now.

Spencer's not really sure what to do with his hands-- hold Brendon's head against his neck? Push his fingers into Brendon's hair-- so he puts them flat on the floor, pushing his palms against the carpet as Brendon goes to TOWN, sucking and licking at the same spot over and over. Spencer's breath is coming in pants now, he knows, and he's grateful Brendon's being pretty single-minded or he'd look down and see that Spencer's pretty much half hard, just from some inexpert hickies and the smell of Brendon's skin.

Then Brendon says, "one more for luck," against his skin, and moves his mouth higher, to the spot under Spencer's ear, and sucks, and then Spencer feels the edge of Brendon's teeth, just slightly, just enough to tease, and he has to bite his lip from crying out, feels himself go all the way hard, and hopes to god Brendon doesn't look down.

He has no idea when this went all to hell, but it was probably about the time he decided to let one of his best friends _bite_ him.

"There," Brendon sits back and wipes his (red, soft, plush) mouth with the back of his hand. "That should do it. Now stop being such a bitch."

"You're a bitch," Spencer mumbles and waits til Brendon is engrossed in picking out a new game to roll over onto his stomach and prop himself up on his elbows, and think hard about death and dismemberment until his dick gets the message and calms down.

The next day, with Brendon safely out of the picture and his bedroom door locked, he curls his hand round his dick, and presses on the bruise under his ear, and lets himself remember.

The next band practice, Spencer ties his hair back again, and Ryan's eyes widen at the mark, a few days old now but still there.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, tapping the same spot on his own neck. Behind him, Brendon freezes.

"You're not the only person in the world who gets some, you know," Spencer shoots back. Brendon's shoulders relax slightly.

They don't say anything about it at practice. But every so often, in the breaks between songs or while Brent is tuning his bass or Ryan is texting, Spencer sees Brendon press on his arm, where, he knows, there is a bruise the exact same shape and size as Spencer's mouth, and smile.


End file.
